


take the shot, see this chance

by Nokomis



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M, Newfound Intimacy, Oh No There Was Only One Motel Room Left, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Tropes Ahoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: Tim thought about being bratty and insisting Raylan sleep in the bathtub, but he sighed and said, “You better not hog the blankets, asshole.”Raylan did, of course.
Relationships: Raylan Givens/Tim Gutterson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 123
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	take the shot, see this chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [torakowalski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/gifts).



“So there was only one room left,” Raylan said, leaning against the Lincoln like he was posing for a photographer. Maybe he was. Tim scanned the parking lot, but didn’t spot anyone Raylan might have chatted up since their arrival fifteen minutes ago. “There’s apparently a family reunion going on.”

“Uh-huh.” Tim’s heard that one before. “I’m not sleeping in the Lincoln.”

“Didn’t say you should. We’re big boys, we can share.” Raylan gave him that grin that Tim hated, the one that made Raylan look like a goddamn movie star. It’s unfair, is what it is, to give a face like that to a man like that.

“You’re really implying that you’re familiar with the concept of sharing?” Tim said, grabbing his bag out of the backseat and waiting on Raylan to reveal which of the rooms is going to be their humble abode for the night.

“I’m heartbroken that you doubt me, Tim, truly I am.” Raylan grabbed his own things, locked up the car, and flicked a room key at Tim. 107, putting them near the end. The motel was barely big enough to call itself that, with only eight rooms.

It’s a tiny, shitty motel, with rooms that open up to the gravel parking lot. 107 was like every other shitty motel room Tim has ever been in, though one notable thing stands out first thing.

“Dibs,” Tim said immediately, throwing his bag on the only bed in the room. It wasn’t even a king, but what might generously be called a queen sized, with one of those scratchy, unwashed polyester comforters that had probably been on the bed since the eighties.

It was still better than the floor, which was covered in maroon carpet that has seen better days, or the hard plastic chairs arranged around a small table by the window.

“Shit,” Raylan said, looking around. “They didn’t mention that they only had the honeymoon suite left.”

“It’d be better if this _was_ the honeymoon suite,” Tim said, flopping onto the bed to further stake his claim. “Then there’d be a hot tub.”

“You’re welcome to go and try to sweet talk the lady at the desk, if you’re so inclined.” Raylan set his bags down, walking through the room, opening every drawer and flipping through every pamphlet left on the dresser. 

“I am of course known for my sweet talk.” Tim rolled his eyes and pulled out the files out of his bag. It was an actual accordion file folder, with the witness statements, criminal histories, and other tedious paperwork neatly packed inside. Tim figured that they’d have it disorganized and shuffled around within the hour, but he wasn’t the one who decided that they were going to have all hard copies for this job. Tim personally thought that was a fucking stupid idea, no matter how little internet access there was in this particular backcountry hellhole.

They were after a former bank robber turned human trafficker, and Tim found that his trigger finger got a little itchy if he thought too hard about what the man had done. A call had come in placing the man -- Woods -- in a backwoods town tucked up in the mountains down near the West Virginia border. 

The problem with towns deep enough up in the mountains was that it was like stepping back in time, technologically speaking, as they were too far from civilization for internet or cell access, the nearest towers too far or blocked by enough mountains to allow any coverage. Tim’s phone had a single bar of service five minutes away from the motel they were at, and Raylan’s sad excuse for a communication device was all but useless.

Even the Marshal service-provided hot spot was useless, given how thoroughly the surrounding mountains blocked any and all attempts for the modern world to break through. 

There was, however, a landline in their motel room. Tim prodded at it. “Just think, if only we had AOL, we could get online.”

“Think you’ll live without it for a few days,” Raylan drawled.

Tim sighed. It was gonna be a long few days until they hopefully caught Woods. Why’d he have to chose the most bumfuck of all backwoods to lay low? Tim supposed he’d figured the lack of communication would help, but Woods had forgotten a key part of backwoods towns -- everyone knew everyone, and any stranger was immediately noticed.

Tim’s the patient sort, and the thought of keeping an eye out for a target is nothing new. Their intel says Woods is going to be meeting with a contact at the only restaurant in the town, a little mom-and-pop restaurant in a low, dark building called Arlene’s. 

Tim’s been to enough of those restaurants in Kentucky to know that the food’s gonna be heavy but filling and delicious, the chairs are going to be covered in old black vinyl, likely with a few tears in them, and that the tables are going to be covered with a slightly sticky plastic tablecloth, probably red plaid.

Arlene’s just so happens to be located directly across the road from the motel they’re staying in. That prime location -- likely the reason the other handful of rooms are full -- means surveillance can be done from the comfort of their hotel room, propped up in the hard plastic chairs by the window.

Settled in, they spend the rest of the day reviewing the files, watching Arlene’s, and making phone calls back to Rachel to complain about the shit shift they’d been handled. Rachel was entirely without mercy, laughing and telling them to keep their chins up, at least they weren’t in Harlan.

When it was time to turn in, Tim thought about being bratty and insisting Raylan sleep in the bathtub, but he sighed and said, “You better not hog the blankets, asshole.”

Raylan did, of course. 

*

The second day went about as well as the first. 

It started out a little weird. Tim woke to the warm press of an arm against his back, and it took him a long moment to realize it was Raylan, sprawled out across his side without a care, one arm flopped against Tim. Tim slept curled on his side -- always had, since those miserable days of his childhood -- and Raylan’s arm felt oddly like an anchor, grounding him.

He shoved it off and mumbled, “Am I gonna have to put a line of tape down the middle of this bed to keep you on your damn side?”

“You said no hogging the blankets, you didn’t say shit about keeping to my side.” Raylan’s drawl was even sleepier than usual, and he apparently had an entirely different definition of not hogging blankets than Tim did.

Tim stumbled out of bed and to the bathroom. Then he stared at the little coffeepot on the counter next to the sink, then shrugged and figured that after everything he’d been through, if shitty coffee was going to take him out, there was nothing to be done about it. He made coffee and stood by the sink, watching it drip into the tiny pot while wondering how Raylan could manage to still sleep. 

Arlene’s was open from 8-8, which narrowed the time down that they had to keep watch considerably. 

Tim took his cup of coffee and settled down in the chair he’d claimed as his own, cracked the curtains enough to have a clear view of Arlene’s, and propped his feet up on the radiator. The parking lot was empty, and it made Tim’s job both easier and considerably more boring. 

He had an itch to grab his book, but he’s learned years ago that having something to look forward to while on a stakeout was more important than actually doing something. 

Raylan stirred almost an hour later, just as Arlene’s was opening for business. Tim kept watch as he listened to Raylan shuffle around the room behind him, totally at ease in the motel. Tim supposed that made sense, given that Raylan, a grown-ass man, chose to live in a similar place.

They watched Arlene’s for several hours, alternating for breaks and studying the file, before Raylan said, “I’m done with this nonsense. You hungry?”

“I could eat,” Tim said slowly.

“Let’s go do some reconnaissance, then,” Raylan said, grabbing his hat.

“You do realize that we’re gonna stick out like sore thumbs and if Woods has any associates in there, they’ll cut and run.”

“Yes, but on the other hand, we’re two strange men who have spent all their time locked up in a hotel room together,” Raylan pointed out. “They’re just as like to assume other things as they are to assume we’re the law.”

“Well, shit, why didn’t I think of that,” Tim said, ignoring the strange way the thought of strangers seeing him and Raylan as _together_ settled within him. “There’s our cover, then.”

“You could only be so lucky,” Raylan said, smiling that smile, and Tim knew that it was going to be a long lunch.

Tim called into the office to let them know their plan. Well, the reconnaissance part of the plan, not their presumed cover. Rachel would get a laugh, but Tim wasn’t quite interested in hearing how Raylan was out of his league, when objectively, Tim was the one out of Raylan’s league. Raylan might have that face and that drawl working for him, but Tim was a goddamn hero and also _had never fucked a witness_ , so he automatically got all the points.

He could practically hear Rachel’s eyes rolling as he updated her. “You boys stay out of trouble,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tim replied before hanging up.

Arlene’s was exactly what Tim had imagined inside, except the sticky vinyl tablecloths were blue plaid and the walls were wood panelling with various taxidermied animals staring down at them. 

They were close enough to both the state highway and some well-known hiking trails up through the Cumberland Gap that their presence wasn’t quite shunned, though their waitress -- eighty if she was a day, and judging from her nametag, the eponymous Arlene herself -- did ask them in a wavery voice what their business was up in these parts.

“Seeing the sights, and my, if you aren’t one of them,” Raylan told her, because apparently flirting outrageously was his go-to in any situation. 

Arlene giggled and swatted him on the shoulder with a menu, but didn’t ask anymore about what their business was, so Tim considered it a win.

They ordered lunch -- Raylan opted for the chicken salad, while Tim went all-in for fried chicken, collard greens and peach cobbler.

They ate quietly, eyes on the occupants of the room. Well, eyes mostly on the occupants. Raylan’s kept drifting to Tim’s cobbler. 

“You could have ordered cobbler,” Tim finally said. 

“Wasn’t feeling a cobbler state of mind then,” Raylan said. “Seem to have changed my mind.”

“I’m not in a sharing state of mind,” Tim warned, but Raylan’s fork darted out anyway, snagging a bite of the cobbler. Tim attempted to defend his dessert with his own fork, then quickly realized how ridiculous that was, and set about eating as much of it before Raylan could. The ice cream was a near-total loss, but Tim happily sacrificed it for the rest.

Arlene gave them a soft, fond smile when she returned with the check, and Tim realized belatedly that they were out in public attempting to not be noticed.

No sign of Woods.

*

The motel room feels especially claustrophobic after the restaurant. Which is ridiculous -- Arlene’s was hardly palatial, and it’s been barely a day, and Tim’s been in far worse positions for far longer. 

Maybe that’s why he suggests leaving the stakeout. Following up on one of their more tenuous leads. A bit of intel that said Woods might be camping out near a quarry.

With the reception being what it was, Raylan decided it wasn’t prudent to split up, but rather, to chance missing Woods at the restaurant in favor of finding him in his natural habitat.

The quarry turned out to be a big, beautiful lake with jagged rock cliffs jutting above the water. The most accessible sides -- the likely ones for Woods to be found -- could be reached by a variety of roads, paths or trails.

After driving around aimlessly, Tim said, “Look, why don’t we pick the most snakey looking path and check there? He’s hardly going to pick the town’s favorite makeout spot.”

Raylan nodded, and they chose an out-of-the-way path that looked like it had been used somewhat recently. A few broken branches, a few smeared footprints dried into the dirt. 

It’s as likely a spot as they’re going to find. 

They found an abandoned campsite tucked a little ways off the trail, the underbrush trampled down enough to lead them straight to it. Woods wasn’t the careful sort. They poked around, but the only thing of note left at the spot was the view, which was admittedly something to write home about. Tim figured it was why Woods had chosen the spot, though he couldn’t tell what had prompted him to abandon it.

Tim gazed at the water, and leaned against a tree. Raylan was still poking through the remains of the fire, as if that would hold any clues, and then suddenly Raylan let out an undignified shriek and started running towards Tim and the lake.

“What the--” Then Raylan was slamming into Tim, sending them both flying into the water. Tim emerged, sputtering, shocked at how fucking _cold_ the water was.

Raylan emerged beside him, sitting up in the water and looking around.

“What the hell was that for?” Tim started to wade out of the water, but Raylan grabbed his sleeve. 

“Might want to wait a moment,” Raylan said. “I figured out why Woods left so quickly. Built his camp right on top of a wasp nest.”

“Shit.” Tim stopped. They waited a few more minutes, hoping the swarm would either move on or go back to the nest, before slogging out of the water and back to the car.

“You know,” Raylan said thoughtfully, staring out at the quarry. “I had a date like this when I was fifteen, sixteen. Dessert, cheap motel, getting thrown into a lake. Her name was Suzie Rae, I believe. Quite a day.”

“If it helps,” Tim said, attempting to wring the water out of his flannel before giving up and pulling it off, plopping it wetly on the hood of the Lincoln. “So did I. ‘Cept mine was with Ryan Jackson.”

Shit. Tim hadn’t meant to say that part out loud. He’s watched his words around his fellow Marshals, not wanting to reveal too much, because he has to trust them with his life, and seeing their reaction, and all the possible ways it can go wrong? That’s too much for him.

“Huh.” The look Raylan is giving him isn’t hostile. If Tim didn’t know any better, he’d think it was assessing. Contemplating.

Shit. Tim definitely needs a drink, if he’s thinking that Raylan Givens is checking him out.

*

Raylan didn’t say anything about Tim’s revelation. Not when they stripped down to their skivvies the second they got back to the room, hanging their wet clothes off the shower curtain rod to dry. Not while they ate a dinner out of the vending machine at the motel, not when they called the office with their update (Rachel, again, got a good laugh, and Tim was glad someone was having some fun with this, because he sure as shit wasn’t.)

Not when they decided it was time to sleep, Arlene’s long since gone dark without any sign of Woods or, frankly, anyone else.

Tim waited for the inevitable: Raylan to make a bullshit excuse about wanting to keep watch into the night, attempting to sleep in the chair, or -- even more characteristically -- trying to convince _Tim_ to.

Instead, Raylan saunters to the bed, punches the pillow a few times, and settles on the bed, legs crossed at the ankle. Tim tried to remember exactly how he’d gotten into bed the night before, hoping to mimic that casualness, but felt like he was moving too deliberately. That Raylan would be able to read his awkwardness like a book.

A book! Tim went back to his bag, grabbed his latest novel -- an alternate history about the effects of a zombie apocalypse on slavery, featuring a plucky heroine -- and settled into bed with it, thankful to have something to focus his attention on that wasn’t Raylan’s every move.

He kept his eyes on the book, except for the times they strayed up enough to see Raylan’s feet beside his own, an oddly domestic sight.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Tim was fucked, if he was thinking about Raylan Givens’ damn _feet_ in a positive light. He clunked the book over his face, closing his eyes and taking several slow, deep breaths.

“You okay there, buddy?” 

Yeah, that was Raylan’s _talking to a potentially unstable witness_ voice. Why did Tim have to be such a goddamn wreck? “Peachy.”

“Book that bad?”

“And then some,” Tim said. Another deep breath, and he emerged from underneath the book. “I’m getting some shut-eye.”

“Sweet dreams,” Raylan said, sounding almost sincere. Then he reached over and patted Tim on the shoulder. 

Tim rolled over on his side without a word, clicking off the lamp on his side of the bed and squirming underneath the sheets. Why did Raylan goddamn Givens always have to make a left turn when Tim expected him to hang right? He’d been sitting here, waiting for… for… _something_ , for Raylan to react the way the good ole boys back home had.

But expecting anything out of Raylan was asking for disappointment. Tim should know that. He’d had to fill out so much goddamn paperwork because of that. 

And really, he _should_ have known better. He’d heard Raylan excuse away his bond with Boyd Crowder a thousand times with that obviously euphemistic phrase, ‘dug coal together.’ Tim just hadn’t expected Raylan to choose this particular topic to avoid being a hypocrite.

Fuckin’ Raylan Givens.

Tim closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to come. Instead he seemed suddenly hyper-aware of every movement that Raylan made. Every shift, every sigh, every soft, rasping breath. Raylan had turned off his own light not long after Tim, but it seemed like sleep was just as elusive for him as it was for Tim.

How the fuck had he ended up here? Laying awake listening to Raylan breathe like some goddamn creep?

Tim sighed, and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping for sleep.

*

Raylan had to be part octopus. Had to be. It’s the only explanation for why Tim felt like he was being cuddled by a half-dozen arms.

He stared at the wall. It was still dark, but he was trapped, and he hated being trapped usually, only this time he felt reluctant to shove his way free. For one thing, there’s a high likelihood that when he pushed Raylan away, it was going to wake him up, and he would say something insufferable. For another…

Well. It’s been a while since anyone really _held_ Tim, and the warmth of Raylan’s limbs draped over him and wrapped around him felt like it was seeping into his muscles and relaxing them in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. His breath evened out, and he drifted back to sleep.

*

Tim woke up to the sun shining directly in his eyes. He flinched and covered his eye with the back of his hand, rolling over with a groan. 

Then he realized that he should be awake already. He couldn’t actually remember the last time that he’d slept this far past sunrise. At least, when he wasn’t hungover. 

“Mornin’ sunshine.” Raylan’s drawl came from the direction of the window. Tim squinted towards him, but gave up and smashed a pillow over his head. He just needed a minute to get used to being awake, without Raylan’s nonsense.

He just _knew_ what was going to come.

“Get your beauty sleep?” 

“Fuck you,” Tim said into his pillow. He heaved a sigh and rolled out of bed, scratching his belly absently as he blinked away sleep. The clock on the nightstand informed him that it was almost 10am. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Raylan shrugged, kept looking out the window. There was something almost deliberate about the way he was posed in his chair, one boot propped on the window sill. He was even wearing his hat, which Tim found to be a bit much.

“I’m gonna go shower,” Tim said, grabbing his bag and heading for the bathroom. It was only when he closed the door that he remembered waking up entangled with Raylan, and falling back asleep in his arms.

He wondered what, exactly, Raylan had woken up to. Tim’s life was a nightmare. An actual, living nightmare, where he has been spooned by Raylan Givens and liked it. He tried to put it out of mind by taking a shower, and if he took a few extra minutes to jack off while _not_ thinking of Raylan, well. Tim sure as hell would never admit it. 

He emerged, fully dressed, and took his seat next to Raylan. He decided at some point in the shower that he wasn’t going to tiptoe around, because that made it weird. 

“Y’know, you’re like a goddamn octopus when you sleep.” Tim kept his eyes out the window, watching the parking lot of Arlene’s. It was half-full; the breakfast crowd already gone and the lunch crowd not yet arriving. None of the vehicles matched the description of Woods’. 

“First time I’ve heard a complaint, I’ve gotta say.” 

Tim cut his eyes over to Raylan, who was still casually tilted back in his chair. “There’s no possible way that’s true.”

Raylan let out a surprised huff of laughter. “Fuck you, Gutterson.”

Tim bit back an entirely inappropriate response. 

Raylan somehow seemed to sense what Tim had been tempted to say and stared him dead in the eye, and his intent… if it was anyone but Raylan Givens, Tim would know exactly what that look meant. If it were anyone else, Tim would already be making a move.

But it’s Raylan -- a man he’s worked side by side with, risked his life with, killed men with -- and it felt like too much to risk, somehow, so he didn’t. 

Then something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A flurry of movement.

“Shit, Woods is there,” Tim hissed. 

“Wood…” Raylan began, clearly thinking of something entirely different, before catching up to speed. “Shit! Let’s go.” 

Tim grabbed what he needed for a potential confrontation -- badge and gun, namely; Raylan was already wearing his -- and followed Raylan’s lead, walking casually out the door and across the street. 

Arlene herself greeted them at the door, offering them what was clearly a prime table near the front windows. This suited their purposes just fine, as Woods was seated just two tables away, back to them.

Arlene came back to their table quickly, and Tim ordered coffee while Raylan ordered the peach cobbler with extra ice cream. At Tim’s look he shrugged and said, “A man’s gotta eat. Might as well enjoy it.”

If that wasn’t Raylan through and through.

Woods was conversing in a low tone. Tim struggled to overhear it. Ideally they would go over and cuff the man immediately, haul his ass in, but if they could get the location of the drop-off beforehand, Art might actually tell them they’d done a good job, instead of accusing them of being the screw-ups that -- admittedly-- they kind of were.

Tim liked having this job, and getting the occasional good review went a long way to assuring that he got to keep it. He wasn’t sure about Raylan’s motivation. Probably he was waiting for an opportunity to just shoot the man and be done with it.

Raylan was halfway through his cobbler and Tim was halfway to regretting his own choice and about to start stealing bites when Woods’ voice rose sharply. “Take your goddamn money and leave, then!”

The sound of a scraping chair as Woods got up, and Raylan cast one mournful look at the cobbler before dropping a twenty on the table and following Woods. Tim took a second to steal a giant bite of the cobbler -- no sense chasing after an asshole fugitive on an empty stomach -- and followed.

Woods was already in his truck by the time they reached the parking lot, so they ran across the road, barely looking for traffic, and dove into the Lincoln. Raylan drove, because of course he’d want to live out his Duke boys fantasies as often as possible, and took off after Woods’ truck, tires squealing as they turned onto the road.

The takedown was almost _fun_ \-- a car chase through windy, two-lane mountain roads. Raylan took the curves with the abandon of someone who had been a teenager in a similar terrain, having learned the hard way exactly how fast you could take corners that sharp without losing control. Woods had less expertise, and went into a particularly nasty corner too hot, back end fishtailing wildly before completely losing control. The truck spun as Raylan pulled in closer, and ended up with the front end crashed into a steep embankment. 

A long second and Tim worries that the asshole’s hurt and he’s going to have to perform field medic duties, but then the door creaks open and Woods takes off, staggering a bit but clearly game to run.

Tim takes off after him, knowing that Raylan always choses fashion over function when it comes to footwear. Woods runs, but doesn’t get far.

Woods in custody, they returned to the motel to gather their things, call Art, and get the hell out of dodge. Tim’s veins felt like they were thrumming, that jolt of pure adrenaline that came with every successful take. 

Raylan was clearly feeling it, too, because the second the motel door had shut behind them, he turned and had Tim pressed up against it, mouth on his.

Tim froze for the barest of seconds, because this was the _potentially catastrophic choice_ he’d been avoiding thinking of the entire few days, but then Raylan moved in even closer somehow, and tilted his head just right, and…

Fuck it. Tim deserved nice things sometimes, and damn if this kiss wasn’t a _really nice thing_.

Tim hooked his thumb into Raylan’s belt loop, testing the waters a bit, and Raylan _whined_ into Tim’s mouth, and.... decision made. Tim pushed Raylan towards the bed.

A tiny part of Tim couldn’t quite believe he was having sex with Raylan Givens, but the majority of Tim was feeling too blissful to think at all.

Turned out that Raylan was somehow even clingier post-orgasm than he was in his sleep, tucking his face into the crook of Tim’s neck and draping himself over him, leg tossed casually over Tim’s, limbs tangled.

Tim tried to extricate himself, but Raylan tightened his grip. “Where d’ya think you’re going?” he mumbled into Tim’s shoulder.

“Lexington? Rachel’s expecting us?” Tim thought that Raylan would go immediately back to work mode, somehow, but that was apparently the wrong assumption.

“The way I see it,” Raylan said, lifting his head up enough to look at Tim properly, “is that it’s a long drive to Lexington, and we have some loose ends to tie up here.”

“Do we?” Tim searched Raylan’s face.

“Think we do,” Raylan said. 

Tim thought back to the last few days, to the way he’d actually _slept_ , to how it hadn’t been terrible at all, sharing this space with Raylan. “Don’t think I’m gonna start acting all lovey-dovey just because we’re…”

He trailed off, suddenly unsure about using the word ‘together.’

Raylan had no such qualms, “Tim, you start acting lovey-dovey, and I’m gonna start thinking those books of yours are coming true. Pod people and all that.”

Tim huffed a little laugh.

“Even I can admit I’m not exactly perfect boyfriend material myself,” Raylan said. “But I know you, and I’m not sure that’s what you’re looking for. Sure as hell isn’t what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?” Tim’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“Right now, some of that good sleep I’ve been getting,” Raylan said. “And… might be that I want someone who’ll call me on my shit before I let things implode. Might be I like knowing that you’ve pulled jus as many times as I have, and won’t shy away from me for it. Might be I just like spending time with you, prickly as you are.”

“Don’t go thinking I’m the prick of this here relationship,” Tim cut in, hoping to distract from how red he could tell his cheeks had gone.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Raylan pressed a sleepy kiss onto Tim’s shoulder. 

Tim thought about the drive back to Lexington, and figured Raylan was right. They had some loose ends here to take care of right here.

Besides, he wasn’t looking forward to seeing Rachel. He was pretty sure that Raylan had sucked a hickey high enough on his neck that his shirt wouldn’t cover it, and Rachel was never gonna let him hear the end of it.

Might as well have his fun before then.


End file.
